


Black Lacquer

by DarkEmeralds



Category: Firefly
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Nail Polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-12
Updated: 2004-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkEmeralds/pseuds/DarkEmeralds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the funeral on St. Albans, Jayne learns something about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Lacquer

If it hadn't been for the gorram black nail polish, Jayne reflected, everything might have been fine. He might be getting some sleep right now instead of lying awake feeling a bunch of _go se_ that he couldn't sort out and couldn't make disappear.

Earlier that evening--it'd only been a couple of hours ago, but now it felt more like dog years--Jayne had felt a hankering for some of Kaylee's moonshine. That was when he'd seen the nail polish, sitting out on the galley counter.

It wasn't like Inara to leave personal stuff lying about, but the funeral had thrown most everyone off a little. Way Jayne saw it, Tracey was dead, and that ice-ball of a moon was behind them, and Serenity was warm. Quiet, too, with everyone in their bunks. It felt good. There was nothing like death to make a man focus on the here and now.

He poured a drink and picked up the tiny bottle. Sat down at the table with it, and found himself just a little curious. It was black. Had its own bitty brush inside. And _ji-du_, the stink of it! He held his breath and painted a small test circle on the dining table.

At that moment, the doc wandered in, barefoot, looking like he'd been asleep, and Jayne was curious about another thing, now that he thought about it. "You sleep in them things, Doc?"

"No." He sounded annoyed, gorram rich kid. Couldn't even have a pleasant conversation. "God, what's that stench?"

"'Nara's nail polish."

"Were you planning to do your nails?"

And of course, that was when Mal decided to show up. "Tell me you ain't drunk enough to paint your nails, Jayne."

"I ain't drunk at all."

But Mal was. Obviously. He lowered himself into a chair way too carefully. "Nope, take it from me. You don't wanna be gettin' that _le-se_ on you--takes some kinda toxic pollutant to get it off again."

"Sounds as if you've got a story there, Captain," Simon said.

"Not much of one. Back home, before the war, got drunk with a buncha ranch hands. Woke up with painted toenails. That's about it." He leaned back and stuck his feet right on the table, and even Jayne knew that was disgusting, but trust the doc to speak up.

"Captain, may I point out that very nice people eat food where you've got your feet right now?"

Mal waved that away with a careless hand. "What they don't know..."

Mal's feet were propped pretty much where Simon usually sat. Jayne snickered. The doc stood at the counter looking at Mal for a good long while. Finally he poured a glass of Kaylee's hooch and came to the table with it. Had the whole jug with him, too. He set the glass down right near Mal--practically put it in his hand, and Jayne started to think he was up to something. He'd learned not to underestimate the doc.

Simon poured a little of the wine for himself, and splashed some more into Jayne's cup. "Well," he said. "None of us seems to be sleeping. Might as well have a drink."

Mal picked up the glass. Simon slid around behind Jayne, leaning in close to say, real quietly, "Think we'll need to hold him down?"

Jayne was confounded for a second. Gorram pretty-boy, always so uppity, always a little too close, and in them sleeping clothes he claimed not to sleep in. Then he swiped the nail polish, so quick Jayne almost didn't see it, and Jayne realized what the doc had in mind. "Nah," Jayne answered. He made a drinking motion he hoped Mal wouldn't notice. He hadn't seen the captain this drunk since the night he'd gotten himself married. Wouldn't be long before he wasn't noticing much of anything.

Simon nodded. "Jayne," he said, "I think the captain would be more comfortable over on the sofa, don't you?"

"Yeah, Mal. We're movin' to the lounge." Jayne knew Mal pretty well. Suggestions didn't go over too good with him. Jayne just picked up both their glasses and walked away. Mal followed quick enough, once he got done stumbling over his chair.

They let Mal stretch out on the settee and took chairs themselves, one at either end of him. "Boots," the doc said, like he was in the operating room giving an order. Jayne found himself just following it.

It was a little strange, taking off another man's boots and socks--Jayne couldn't remember doing such a thing but once before, and that guy'd been dead. The doc just nodded encouragement from his place behind Mal's head, and waggled the little black bottle where Mal couldn't see it.

"You've had a hell of a few days, Captain," the doc said. Jayne didn't know quite what to make of the doc's hand on Mal's forehead. Looked a little medical. Looked a lot more like something else. Mal wasn't minding it, though. Eyes closed, barely conscious, he sighed. Jayne dimly remembered his mother's hand, like that, once when he'd been sick as a kid. And a gentle kiss to follow...it was a good feeling. Soothing, like. And maybe they'd all had a rough couple of days, or maybe Jayne was a little drunker than he thought, but when Simon did exactly the same thing to Mal, it didn't seem all that unsettling.

In fact, it was kind of interesting. Jayne always reckoned the doc was a little on the sly side, and he never could figure Mal out in that regard. Maybe Mal wouldn't've minded something like this, even sober. Jayne couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the doc's hand, now stroking the side of Mal's face, and his lips on Mal's forehead. It was a second or two before he noticed that Simon was holding out the little black bottle with his other hand, trying for Jayne's attention.

"Oh. Right." He snatched it. Simon left off the kissing. "Just let it all go tonight, Mal."

Now, Jayne had noticed that the doc and the captain didn't often call each other by name. Almost like they were both trying to keep a distance that wouldn't've crossed their minds if they weren't trying too hard. Mal sighed again, made a little smacking sound with his mouth like a kid falling asleep, and Jayne had to hand it to the doc. Mal was out cold.

"What do I with this stuff?"

The doc was still gazing at Mal, still had the one hand on Mal's face. He didn't look up at Jayne, just put the other hand to touching as well. "Paint his toenails, Jayne." The fingers--long, city-boy fingers, still soft and smooth after all this time--made small circles at Mal's temples, right there at that tender, killing spot. Jayne knew from one or two of his better whorehouse experiences that someone else doing that on you was ten times more relaxing than doing it on yourself. Like a lot of things. It felt pretty strange to wonder what else of Mal's Simon's hands might've been on, and it was a short, disturbing step from there to the notion of Simon's hands on _him_.

Jayne hastily opened the nail polish. The chemical smell seemed to bring him right back to his senses. Gorram, the brush was tiny. Mal's feet were rough, a little dirty. Jayne got to concentrating on coloring inside the lines, painting one of the big toenails. He tried to do the second toenail, but it was pretty small. Keeping his voice low even though a shotgun blast probably wouldn't've woken Mal up at this point, Jayne said, "You want these little ones painted black, Doc, you're gonna have to get them fancy doctor hands over here and do it yourself."

"All right." The doc left off his touching like he wasn't nearly filled up on it yet. He came and looked over Jayne's shoulder. "Nice work. I'm surprised. Must be all that delicate knife-sharpening."

The doctor's words made him feel pretty good, even though he was probably just making fun. "Aw, my ma always said I wasn't made for delicate work."

"Perhaps. But then, some things are better done indelicately."

"Heh! You got that right, Doc." But before Jayne could get to thinking about some of those things, Simon reached down across his chest and slid the bottle from fingers suddenly gone a little slack. And he didn't just step away then, either. Jayne turned to see what he was doing back there, only to find the doc's face pretty much right next to his. He was pointing at Mal.

"I'll finish here. You see how he's holding his head? He's tense even when he's asleep. I'd like you to massage his shoulders a little, all right?"

Jayne wasn't sure if that was delicate or indelicate work, but he wasn't gonna stay sat there with Simon too close. "Yeah, all right, doc."

"You certainly have the hands for that. Ever done it before?"

Jayne got up quickly. "I think I can figure it out." He felt a stirring deep down, and not a woman in sight, or even the thought of one, and he couldn't get away from Simon fast enough. Mal shifted and mumbled something as Jayne gripped either shoulder and began to rub, hoping he wasn't being too rough.

The doc was carefully wiping the little brush on the edge of the bottle. "Have you ever seen lacquerware?" he asked.

Hell. Maybe. Jayne didn't know. "Yeah, I guess."

"To create it, they start with the most fragile wooden form. Just a thin shell. First they wrap that in linen, then coat the linen with a thin layer of lacquer."

Jayne had no idea what he was talking about, or why.

"They build up the lacquer, layer by layer, a hundred layers, and each layer has to be cured, and sanded, and polished. It takes weeks to complete a single piece." The doc was painting black stuff carefully on Mal's toenails. "Eventually, you have a beautiful object with a hard, shiny finish. But it's brittle--a lot more fragile than it looks."

The doc put the bottle of nail polish aside. "The captain was forced to kill an old friend the other day. He thinks he's harder than he is. Nobody's that hard." He ran his hands over Mal's feet and up his calves. "Not even you, Jayne."

Jayne had sometimes wondered how hard a man would have to be to cut a person open and fiddle with their insides the way the doc did without blinking. People thought Jayne was tough--hell, that's what Mal paid him for--but Jayne believed the doc might be tougher. Still, Jayne knew his strengths. "I reckon I'm hard enough to do what needs to be done."

"Yes, I imagine you are," Simon said, after a good long look that seemed a little challenging. Like maybe he was looking for proof. Jayne felt confused again, the way he did half the time around clever fellas like the doc. "I'd like to see you working the muscles just below the base of his neck."

Not too sure about just what he meant, Jayne fumbled around a bit, then the next thing he knew, the doc was showing him. Up and touching Jayne's own neck, and that spot a little lower down you couldn't ever reach yourself. "Here, Jayne. You know the spot."

Jayne wanted to get up right there and walk away, but that deep-down stirring was starting to show, and the idea of the doctor seeing him flush--well, that wasn't gonna happen. Jayne shrugged the doc's hands off him. "Yeah, okay. I got it." He felt caught. Couldn't leave till he got his John Thomas under control, and if he didn't start rubbing Mal's gorram unconscious neck, the doc wouldn't let him alone.

So he dug in a bit, down below Mal's shoulders, and Simon said, "You do have the hands for it," before stepping away--finally. He went and sat himself down on the floor about mid-settee. Leaned against the cushions--against Mal's hip.

"Am I the only one workin' here now?"

"Nail polish needs to dry. You're doing just fine," the doc said.

Mal shifted again and began to mumble something. Jayne made out, "...can't walk, ya crawl."

"Yeah, Mal. Just like Tracey said. And you done the right thing. You carried 'im home."

"Jayne? That you?"

"Yeah, Mal."

The captain opened his eyes partway, put a hand out and patted in the direction of Simon there till he was touching his hair, and the doc just kinda leaned into it. That's when Jayne was suddenly sure that Simon's hands--and more--had been pretty much everywhere on Mal already. Probably more than a time or two.

Jayne was busy disregarding that little twinge you get when you might've had your eye on a thing but someone else snatched it up faster--couldn't be that bad, losing something you didn't know you wanted till a minute ago--when Mal's other hand somehow found Jayne's face. Damn near poked his eye out groping around, till Jayne grabbed it and patted it awkwardly.

"You just--you go on and rest now, Mal."

Mal never did like suggestions. He struggled to raise his head. "_Ni ta me de_, he mumbled. "You painted my gorram toes."

"Doc here thinks you were feelin' brittle--needed another coat."

The doc twisted his head around to look at Jayne in surprise.

"That so?" Mal relaxed back onto the arm of the settee. He'd always been kind of a quiet drunk. "Who's he think he is, anyway?"

_Yours_, Jayne thought. That's who. He stood. Nothing keeping him here anymore. "I'm goin' to bed."

Simon shrugged. It was an "oh well" kinda shrug, like maybe Jayne had missed the point entirely, but like the doc couldn't be bothered to pursue it. Jayne had a funny feeling something had just slipped away from him that would never come into reach again. "Pleasant dreams," was all the doc said.

Outside the doorway, Jayne looked back. In a pool of dim lamplight, Simon was getting to his feet, and for one crazy second Jayne thought he might be coming his way. But he just leaned over the captain and planted a kiss on his mouth, saying, "Move over, Mal." Then he switched off the light.

Jayne turned and went as quietly--as delicately--as he could up the dark passage toward his bunk.


End file.
